Brian snatched Melissa’s phone, his thumbs flying frantically across the screen. I watched the blood drain from his face in real-time. His skin went from flushed red to a sickly, pale grey.
“What… what is this?” he whispered. “The account… it’s locked. It says ‘Frozen by Financial Institution due to suspected fraudulent activity’.”
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and sudden realization. “Dad… what did you do?”
“I did an audit, son,” I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the counter. “I looked into Vance & Bennett Holdings LLC. I saw the $350,000 equity line you took out against my home. I saw the forged signature.”
Melissa let out a sharp, strangled squeak. She immediately took a step back, away from Brian, her eyes darting toward the front door as if calculating her escape route.
“Dad, listen to me,” Brian stammered, his voice dropping an octave, abandoning his arrogant smirk for a pathetic, pleading whine. “We can explain that. It wasn’t… it’s a business investment! We were going to pay it back! We were going to surprise you with a huge return! We just needed the capital to start the project, and since the house is going to be mine anyway when you—”
“When I die?” I finished the sentence for him. “When I’m ‘basically already gone’, as you so eloquently put it last night in front of my neighbors?”
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“It is exactly what you meant,” I said, standing up. I picked up my laptop from the counter, opened the lid, and turned it so they could see the screen. It was the email draft. The twenty-two names of our family and friends, the police department, and the attorney.
“This email contains the full forensic accounting of your fraud,” I told them, my voice dead calm. “It contains the IP addresses used to forge my signature from inside this very house. It contains the bank routing numbers showing exactly where that $350,000 went.”
Brian looked at the screen, then at me. “Dad, please. If you send that, my life is over. I’ll go to prison. Family doesn’t do this to family!”
“Family doesn’t serve their father dog food on his birthday, Brian.”
Melissa, realizing her entire lavish lifestyle was evaporating into thin air, suddenly snapped. She lunged forward, her manicured nails clawing toward the laptop screen. “You crazy old bastard! You’re ruining our lives over a joke! Give me that computer!”
“Touch that computer, Melissa, and I hit ‘Send’ right now,” I warned, my finger hovering over the trackpad.
She froze, panting, her face ugly with rage.
Brian dropped to his knees. Literally down on his knees on the kitchen floor, right next to a pile of dirty napkins from the night before. “Dad, please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Tell me what you want. We’ll leave! We’ll pack our bags and get out of your house today! Just don’t send that email. Don’t call the cops.”
I looked down at my son. The boy I had loved, the boy I had protected. I felt a profound sense of sadness, but absolutely no mercy.
“Oh, you are definitely leaving, Brian. Both of you. Within the hour,” I said. “But leaving isn’t going to save you from what comes next.”
“Then what do you want?” Brian cried, tears finally leaking from his eyes. “If we leave, will you delete the files? Will you bury it?”
I smiled, a cold, sharp expression that made Brian flinch.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said, reaching into my suit jacket pocket. I pulled out an object and set it squarely on the kitchen counter between us.
It was Max’s old plastic dog bowl, still smeared with a few crumbs of dry kibble from the night before.
“You want me to delete the email? You want me to hold off on pressing charges for the $350,000 fraud?” I asked, my voice echoing in the dead silence of the kitchen.
Brian stared at the bowl, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Dad… what are you saying?”
I leaned in close, looking directly into my son’s terrified eyes.
“You have exactly five minutes to make a choice, Brian. And believe me, what I’m about to ask you to do to save your freedom is going to make you wish you had never been born.”
